


in this final hour

by orlesiantitans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, Guilt, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: It’s not something Reiner would have said in his younger years, his fervor burning scalding hot. Devils, he’d said to Bertholdt when the uncertainty would creep into his eyes.They’re not like us.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Reiner Braun
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	in this final hour

They lie together, staring up at a sky only somewhat obscured by the remnants of a ceiling. It’s an odd sort of camaraderie - the only two people in their group of misfits who know what it is to kill hundreds of people in an instant. They haven’t really talked about it yet, but Reiner can feel Armin itching to speak, trying to find the right words.

“Does it ever go away?” are the words he chooses. 

Reiner hesitates. He doesn’t have to ask what - he knows.  _ The guilt _ . “No,” he admits. “You’ll tell yourself over and over that you’re doing it for the right reasons. Your cause, your purpose, your people. But what does it matter in the end? Took me a long time to realise that people are just people. The baker in Paradis and the baker in Marley are exactly the same. And they’ll die the same, too.”

The silence that follows the admission is heavy. It’s not something Reiner would have said in his younger years, his fervor burning scalding hot.  _ Devils _ , he’d said to Bertholdt when the uncertainty would creep into his eyes.  _ They’re not like us.  _

But it’s not true. They all had moments that made them seem like devils - but how could Mikasa and Eren killing out of self-defence possibly compare with him and Bertholdt knocking the walls in? How could he compare himself to Armin or Connie or Jean, who’d never killed anyone until the circumstances they’d been thrust into forced them to? His stomach turns, and he feels briefly sick. It passes soon enough. It always does. 

Armin sighs, “I see them. All the time. Children, old people, men and women with laugh lines. I can’t get them out of my head. Lying there, crushed. I acted on orders, but-”

“They give you the gun,” Reiner interrupts. “They give you the gun, they point it somewhere, and they tell you to shoot. But it’s your conscience that has to bear the consequences. In the end, the Curse of Ymir starts to feel like more of a blessing. Less time to dwell on it.”

The sob that comes from his side snaps him out of his reverie, but there’s nothing he can say to take away the pain Armin’s feeling. He can’t tell him that it’s  _ not his fault _ or  _ it’ll be okay _ , because it is and it won’t. He’s been bearing the consequences of his actions since he was twelve years old, and he’ll continue to bear them until the moment the Curse takes him. No matter how often he tries to bury his regrets in bottles, women, sleep, it never goes away. 

Instead, he reaches out and takes Armin in his arms, running his fingers through soft blond hair. Everything about Armin is soft - even after years of fighting and years of killing, he still cries over it. Honestly, Reiner doesn’t know how to deal with it - he’s not the type to comfort others, really.  _ Can’t fix others when you’re broken _ , he thinks bitterly. But all thoughts are pushed from his mind when he feels a pair of lips on his own, and he freezes. Armin is still in his arms, and his lips are open, needy.

_ No, Armin _ , a better man would say.  _ This isn’t the way. _

Reiner isn’t a better man. Perhaps a soldier would be, but a warrior is greedy. A warrior takes. 

Turning them over so that he rests on top of him, Reiner starts to return the kiss, arms moving up to rest on either side of the smaller man’s head, mouths opening and turning the kiss into something hungry and desperate. 

Eventually, he regains enough of himself to pull back and meet Armin’s eyes. “Are you sure?” he says. There’s an edge of warning to his voice, and Armin gives him a single nod. He doesn’t bother asking again - what’s the point? Unhealthy coping mechanisms are part of Reiner’s personality at this point. If Armin wants to indulge, he’d be a hypocrite to deny him.

Leaning in for another kiss, Reiner hikes Armin’s legs up over his hips. Already, both of them are half-hard, and Reiner lets his fingertips quest underneath Armin’s shirt, feeling planes of muscle that look at odds with his body. There’s a tearing noise as he decides the buttons aren’t worth it, and he feels a huff of laughter against his mouth.

“I don’t have infinite shirts, you know,” Armin whispers, and Reiner shrugs.

“You can wear one of mine,” he offers, but the second laugh confirms that  _ that _ isn’t even worth considering. Honestly, it was half a joke anyway. Armin would drown in one of his shirts. 

It doesn’t stop the image being rather appealing. 

His own shirt comes off with far less damage, and it’s not until Armin’s fingers arrive at the button of his pants that he sees the first flickers of hesitation in the other man’s eyes. His fingers reach down to capture Armin’s hands around the wrist, and there’s a moment of silence where they stare at one another. A question in his eyes, an answer in Armins, and his fingers loosen around Armin’s wrists. Even with the shaking in his fingertips, it’s evident that uncertainty belies determination, and he lets out a soft huff of breath on feeling a hand quest underneath his waistband. All at once, it’s more than all the women he’d had.

Always trying to be the perfect man, warrior, soldier, whatever. And denying what he wants to get it.

The unpracticed hand running over him has gasps of pleasure leaving his lips, and he shoves his pants down at once. There’s a moment where they separate to take off the last of their clothing themselves, and when their movements cease, Reiner finds himself on his knees, facing Armin who is in much the same position. 

In his life, Reiner’s seen many cocks. As a warrior, a soldier, a man, it’s unavoidable. You have to change in close proximity to other people, there’s no avoiding it. All too often, he’d seen Connie or Bertholdt or Marco wandering around naked. Connie in particular took a long time to get ready in the mornings, and… and he’s going to have to  _ stop  _ thinking about Connie nude, lest his erection start to flag. 

The point is, Armin’s is quite possibly the  _ prettiest _ one he’s ever seen. It’s not overly large, and it’s leaking a bead of fluid at the tip, and it’s flushed as pink as his cheeks are. In contrast, Reiner feels like a bit of a monster, and it takes him a moment to lie back on the bed, letting Armin straddle his hips. 

“Oil?” he asks, and Armin shakes his head. It makes Reiner hesitate - he knows enough to know that oil is a prerequisite for anal sex. Immediately, that puts it off the table. There’s no way in hell he’s going to prepare Armin or himself with spit - that’s asking for trouble. Instead, he lines their cocks up against one another and surrounds them with a loose fist, pulling Armin down into another kiss as they lazily thrust against one another. 

Their kisses taste of salt. Tears are running down Armin’s cheeks again, and Reiner uses his free hand to brush them away. “You okay?” he whispers, and Armin doesn’t nod or shake his head. He just leans in for another kiss, and it’s proof of how broken they both are that they just let it happen. “You’re beautiful,” Reiner whispers against Armin’s mouth, and feels the moment Armin pulses with orgasm as if in response to the compliment, gasping brokenly against Reiner’s mouth. He follows seconds later. 

For a few minutes, they just stay like that, pressed together, spend cooling on Reiner’s stomach. Eventually, he wipes it off with Armin’s ruined shirt - the room is cold, and he doesn’t want to risk it getting tacky. They lie together, the cool air from the broken roof leaving them shivering. The threadbare blanket isn’t really enough to keep the cold at bay, but both of them run hotter than normal people do anyway. They lie chest to chest, and Reiner sighs. 

“I wouldn’t make a habit of that. I did. It doesn’t take the pain away for good,” he whispers, thumb running over Armin’s bottom lip. “Only ends in pain, really.”

Shrugging, Armin tucks an arm under his head. “We’re all going to die soon enough anyway. What does it matter if I try to make my final days hurt a little less?”

It’s a fair point, much as Reiner hates to admit it. Four years for him, nine for Armin. Not a life, not really. “Rest,” he whispers, his own eyes slipping shut.

To his surprise, he finally gets a day without nightmares. 


End file.
